


Beyond the Dark and the Silence

by Khiori63



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiori63/pseuds/Khiori63
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is lost in a dark, silent, and dangerous world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Dark and the Silence

Instinct dictates he remain in the corner furthest from the door. 

Instinct, however, is not always advantageous in certain situations.  Such as when one is lacking both visual and auditory input.  Given those circumstances, the wisest course of action is to remain as close to the door as possible.  It is the only option if he is to be made aware of any intrusion. 

He therefore sits on the hard floor directly in front of the door, his back pressed against its unyielding surface.  Here he can feel the vibration of approaching footsteps and during those rare moments when exhaustion overtakes him and he sleeps, any movement of the door brings him instantly awake and alert, prepared to defend himself or seek any opportunity to escape. 

 Not that he has been successful with either endeavor.

He has, according to his time sense, been confined in this room for 34.7 days.  Tactile exploration reveals that it is approximately 36 meters wide and no more than 23 meters in height.  The walls and floor appear to be metallic and he can locate no other opening save the door and a small hole in the floor, which he uses to relieve himself.  The room is cold, maintaining a temperature of approximately 10º Celsius.  When he was first imprisoned here, the air was filled with several unidentified scents.  Now, however, he can smell nothing but the foul stench of his own bodily wastes.

He shivers constantly now, his current condition making it difficult for him to regulate his body temperature.  The situation is not helped by the fact he is nude and his captors have made no attempt to supply any sort of bedding.  Nor have they been inclined to provide much in the way of sustenance, either solid or liquid, since his confinement began.

They have, however, taken steps to assure him he has not been forgotten.  As a result, his entire body is covered with numerous bruises and lacerations.  His lips are swollen and cracked, and three of his teeth are missing.  An occasional stabbing pain in his side is a strong indication of at least two broken ribs.  His right kneecap is shattered and his left ankle is badly sprained.  All but two of his toes are broken, the result of his captors’ boots smashing down on his bare feet at various times, grinding and crushing the small and fragile bones.   

There are internal injuries, as well.  He is 95.4% certain he is passing blood.

His hands are no longer quite as painful now that he is careful to avoid anything coming into contact with his fingertips or raw nail beds.  His fingers themselves feel hot and swollen, and he takes care to keep them well out of the way when he rubs at the thick, sticky binding covering his eyes.  He scrapes at it constantly with the sides of his palms, trying to work an edge loose so he can start to peel it away.  The few times he has managed to do so, however, proved to be futile, for when his captors returned and saw what he had done, their response was to wind another two or three layers around his head, effectively destroying his efforts and making his next attempt even more difficult.  Then would come a vicious beating, followed by a brutal and violent sexual assault by each of his captors.  Not that he needed to misbehave in order for such to happen, as has been demonstrated to him time and time again.

There are at least five.  He has never seen them, but he is able to determine that one is taller than the others and also a bit heavier.  Two are slightly under his own height, one thin and one stocky.  The thin one is circumcised.  He is fairly certain this is the one who placed the substance in his ears that rendered him deaf.  The remaining two are smaller still, yet have proven to be the most…enthusiastic when molesting his body. 

Despite the fact he is currently deprived of two of his five senses, there is at least some small comfort the loss is temporary.  His sight can easily be restored by the removal of the binding over his eyes and he is confident the substance in his ears can be removed, as well.  He is well aware that his captors could have easily made both losses permanent using a variety of methods, none of which he cares to ponder.  It is enough for now they have chosen to leave him intact.  

His thoughts are interrupted by the subtle vibration of approaching footsteps.  Boot steps, to be precise.  His captors are returning.

He scrambles awkwardly to his feet and despite the pain shooting through his fingers, lays one hand on the door.  As soon as he feels it start to open, he throws his weight against it in an effort to keep the others out.

But like all his previous efforts, this one too proves futile.  Weakened by hunger, thirst, and pain, he is forced to retreat as the door is inexorably pushed open.  He then feels their hands upon him, grabbing his arms, his shoulders, attempting to subdue him once again…

He quickly breaks free and scrambles backward until he is pressed tight against the wall, his hands flailing wildly as he seeks to keep his captors at bay.  But the hands reach for him again and he begins to fight with what little strength remains, wrenching free from their hold, yanking at hair, clawing at eyes and ears, aiming punches both high and low, hoping to strike a face or rib cage...

He almost smiles as a fist connects with a nose, the crunching of cartilage a strong indication it is now broken.  He immediately follows that up with several kicks, hoping to damage vulnerable flesh as his own has been damaged…

But even as he continues to fight, he realizes something is wrong.  Usually by this time his captors have subdued and pinned him to the floor, where he is forced to endure yet another session of hands and feet raining down endlessly until all resistance is beaten out of him before he is rolled over onto his stomach and…

No, this time it appears these hands are only trying to restrain, trying to hold him still, trying to prevent him from defending himself.  Panicked, he strikes out once again with fists and feet, and now even teeth as he refuses to give in this time, to surrender his body to their carnal needs…

Then suddenly, the hands are gone and seconds later, through the soles of his feet, he feels the faint vibration of the heavy door slamming shut. 

He is alone.

* * * * *

“Yeah, I’d say it’s broken.”  Kirk gently probed his chief surgeon’s nose.  Instantly his hand was swatted away.

“Thanks, but I already figured that out for myself.  Doctor, you know.”  McCoy ran a critical eye over Kirk.  “How about you?”

Kirk shrugged.  “He got me good in the shoulder, but it doesn’t feel like he did any real damage.”

“So now what do we do now?”  McCoy waved a hand at the six burly security guards waiting nearby, a few, like the two of them, nursing minor injuries.  “Send them in again and have them pin him down so I can sedate him?”

Kirk gave him a sharp look.  “Absolutely not.  You saw the condition he’s in.  Do you really think it’s wise to subject him to even more trauma?”

McCoy glanced at the door, where the focus of their rescue attempt remained.  He wasn’t sure if by “trauma” Kirk had been referring to the blood staining the Vulcan’s thighs and whether or not he understood what it meant.  As a physician, McCoy didn’t have to speculate.  He would discover the extent of the damage soon enough.  

He sighed resignedly.  “No, I don’t.  But I really can’t see any other alternative.  The sooner he gets to Sickbay, the better.” 

Kirk nodded.  “Agreed.”  He approached the door again, but as McCoy and the guards made to follow, he waved them back.  “No. Stay here until I say otherwise.”

McCoy stepped forward.  “Jim…”

“No, Bones.  That’s an order.” 

Before McCoy could argue further, Kirk was gone.

* * * * 

He stands absolutely still, trying to quell his panting breaths, reaching out with his remaining senses in an effort to determine whether or not he is actually alone.  Just because no hands are upon him and the door is now closed does not mean his captors have departed.  Even now they could still be in the room, waiting, watching for an opportunity to strike again.  For if there is one thing he has learned during his time here is that they would never tolerate such defiance, indeed had done their best to beat and sodomize it out of him.  No.  Even if by chance he is alone, he has no doubt his captors will soon return.

Yes.  There it was.  The slightest hint of warm air against his face that could only come from outside his prison.  The door is open.  

Then a hand touches his elbow.

His response is immediate.  He launches himself at the being in front of him, the force of his momentum knocking his opponent to the floor.  He immediately straddles the supine form as his hands grope wildly, searching for the soft, vulnerable flesh of the neck.  Before he can locate his target, however, strong hands grasp his wrists and guide them down and forward until his fingertips brush against his captor’s temples.

_Spock._

Stunned, he jerks his hands away and scrambles backward until he is once again pressed against the wall.  Could it be?  Or is this a clever trick of his captors?

He swallows once, twice, then in a voice hoarse from disuse, manages to croak out, “J-Jim?”  Even as he speaks, he cringes away in fear, certain he is mistaken and this is just another method his captors have found to break him.  

A strong hand lays itself on top of his own as this time fingertips gently press against his own temple.

_Yes._

Something deep inside breaks.  Whatever strength that has sustained him for the past 34 days is suddenly gone and he pitches forward, strong arms catching him before his face hits the floor.  He is lifted and turned so that he is cradled against a firm chest, his nostrils filling with a scent as familiar as his own.  He begins shuddering uncontrollably, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he realizes that his ordeal is finally ended.  The arms around him suddenly go tense as fingertips quickly find their way once again to his temple.

_Easy, easy.  It’s all right.  It’s all over now._

He begins to relax, only to stiffen up again as he senses the presence of others.

_It’s okay.  It’s just Bones and a few guards from the ship._

He nods and something hard and round is pressed to his lips.

_Drink._

He gulps at the water eagerly until it is pulled away.

_That’s enough for now.  You can have more in a minute._

A strange scent fills the air and hands touch his face near the binding covering his eyes, massaging a thick liquid into his skin.  He frowns in puzzlement.

 _Don’t worry; it’s just something to help dissolve the adhesive so we can get this thing off your face._  

He nods and sits quietly in his captain’s arms, taking occasional sips of water as the binding is slowly peeled off his face until the last layer finally falls away.  The only source of light is from the partially open door and while it is not particularly bright, it is still too much after so long surrounded by darkness.  A hand shields his eyes and tucks his face into a muscular shoulder, effectively blocking out the light.  Something thick and warm is tucked over and around him. 

For a moment he is content to lay there, then the desire to see becomes almost overwhelming.  He lifts his head and slowly opens his eyes.  Tears immediately begin to form and he impatiently blinks them away.

When his vision finally clears, the first thing he sees is McCoy’s face bending over him, just as had been the case when he recovered his sight after Deneva.  The doctor is waving a tricorder over him and his mouth is moving, obviously speaking to him.

Spock shakes his head.  “I cannot hear you.  My captors…” Before he can continue, hands tilt his face gently to the side and a finger carefully probes his ear.  He is released and he turns his head to witness a brief conversation between his captain and McCoy before fingertips come to rest against his temples.

_There’s nothing to worry about.  Once we get that stuff out, you’ll be able to hear just fine._

He nods against his captain’s shoulder, his body sinking further into that welcome embrace.  A hand brushes his hair away from his forehead before a gentle kiss is deposited there.   _Go to sleep, love._

It is an order he is eager to obey, but just before darkness claims him, he manages to form one more coherent thought.   _I knew you would come._

The answer follows him down into blackness.

_Always, love.  Always._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [После тьмы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8573095) by [Chmonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chmonder/pseuds/Chmonder)




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